Incognito
by mystikquill
Summary: A dear old character of sizeable compassion is slain by the hand of a truly skilled murderer, who in turn leaves no evidence of his entrails at the scene of the crime.. i refrain from telling anymore. warning:this fic was not meant for the faint of heart
1. Default Chapter

The stars sparkled with extraordinary ominescience over the relatively small school of witchraft and wizardry that lay still below them. All was quiet on the grounds, for it was well past midnight, and every student and professor lay still in their beds. Though, one young man lay awake. He strolled out onto the grounds, and slipped past the lake unnoticed. From far away the character was a mere silhouette against the darkened landscape. He was not easily traced due to the camouflage of his surroundings. Yet he pressed on with his only light beaming from the half moon that shone high in the sky.   
  
A closer look at this midnight walker revealed a small silver light shining from his right hand, a dagger. As he pressed on further, his destination was revealed. The hut lay glowing on the outskirts of a harsh and predatory forest. It's sole inhabitant seemed to be the only human awake on these grounds, spare the midnight walker himself. He crept ever closer towards the rounded door, looming outside of the window. His sight was greeted by the sleeping figure of a rather large and unkempt man, resting on a battered piece of cloth and stuffing that might have once been recognized as a couch.   
  
Licking his lips victoriously, a wand escaped the young man's cloak and a few words were whispered in sadistic tone. The large man slept so loudly that his intruder was sure someone in the great castle would wake and dash to the cabin to find him there.   
  
This is it, he thought to himself, it's now or never.  
  
With a swift silent motion, the intruder lifted the dagger above the resting form, and wedged it deep into the man's chest. No sound emitted from his lips, he simply slumped further down into his couch than before. His fingers uncurling slowly upon his impending death. And just as quickly as he came, the midnight walker left, leaving no evidence of his arrival or departure.   
  
------------  
  
Potions class, just what she needed. It wasn't that she couldn't handle it. It was the fact that the whole day lay ahead of her and the vicious cycle had started yet again. She took a deep breath.   
  
It's your seventh year, just get through this and you're out of here. Though these words could not end her contempt for the schedule she had chosen. First, O.W.L Potions, Second, O.W.L. Arithmancy, Third O.W.L Herbology, Fourth O.W.L Astronomy. What the bloody hell was I thinking?  
  
" Hermione," a sullen voice protruded her thoughts. She jerked up, catching the man who had so rudely intruded upon her daydreams.   
  
" Yes, Professor Snape?" she replied innocently.   
  
" Do you have an answer?" he asked again in slightly different form. Leave it to Snape to call on me the only time I don't have the answer. Why, that half-witted bas--  
  
" It seems that Miss Granger is not paying attention today. Maybe she thinks it's appropriate to slack off in her seventh year at Hogwarts. Would anyone like to correct Miss Granger's mistake?" A hand shot up as quick as lightning.   
  
" Yes, Miss Parkinson?" A petite blonde girl lowered her hand gently and answered smartly.   
  
" Mugwort, the answer is Mugwort." The girl's gaze swept over to Hermione and turned into a glare that could burn through even the strongest man's ego.  
  
" Very good, Miss Parkinson. Ten points to Slytherin." The grim man showed a vacant smile and then quickly hid it again under the wrinkles and depressed features of his face. Hermione quickly shut-out the affrontary and slipped back into deep thoughts.   
  
An hour went by before the class was finally let out. A sigh of relief escaped Hermione as she slipped out of the dungeon and onto the main floor. The dungeon was dreary and depressing, reminding Hermione of just how dramatically lifeless the man who lived there must be.   
  
Hermione felt relieved that it was time for lunch, and that she could sit for an hour without interupption or interrogation. Though, the sight was much different as she entered the great hall. Groups of students were huddled everywhere, and no one sat still. Only a few teachers sat in their appropriate spots, watching the students closely for any sign of misconduct.   
  
" What's going on?" she asked outloud. In response, a firm hand rested on her shoulder. Hermione spun around the see her Transfiguration Professor with red eyes and several handkercheifs hanging loosely from her robe pockets. Before she could say anything, the professor took her hand.   
  
" Come with me, Hermione." McGonagal whisked her through the crowds of students and teachers and through several hallways before coming to a small statue. Hermione didn't recognize this statue as being a passageway, but McGonagal spoke a few words and the statue lifted to reveal a set of stairs leading down below the main floor of the school. The professor stepped onto the stairs and started to make her way down, and Hermione followed willingly; the door closing behind her.   
  
As they descended the steps, an oval room came into view. Along with several familiar faces. Dumbledore, Snape, Flitwick, and several other professors. But along with the professors were several students she knew well, such as her best friends, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, including Neville Longbottom, Ginny Weasley, Seamus Finnagin, and a few others. As soon as Hermione took a seat by her friends, Dumbledore began to speak. His eyes, much like McGonagal were a very scarlet shade, which surprised Hermione greatly. She had thought the old man incapable of tears, they seemed so childish compared to his demeanor. Immediatley, Hermione sensed harsh news floating her way.   
  
" My friends," he started, " Professors and students alike. There was discovered this morning a great and tragic loss to the school and to all of us. While your fellow students may be spreading false rumors around the great hall at this very moment, you have been chosen to know the truth, since you few were so closely tied to the loss in question. This morning at exactly eleven o'clock, a dead body was found in a cabin on the grounds of Hogwarts. This body belonged to a dear man named Rubeus Hagrid,"   
  
The old man left room for pause as the entire room lit up with gasps and sharp cries. Hermione sat in utter shock and denial as, for the first time, she viewed small clear specs emitting from the wise man's eyes; along with the dormant Potions professor beside him. Shifting her view to her best friends sitting beside her, she caught glimpses of the same shock and denile coursing through her mind at the moment.   
  
" A public funeral is to be held on school grounds for the entirity of Hogwarts, then a more exclusive showing shall be held at the mentioned burial place in Hagrid's will. All of you present in this room are hereby invited to the private funeral and will be notified as to the time and date and departure information as soon as possible,  
  
" I have decided to cancel any classes for the remainder of the day in place of mourning. I hope that all of you will use this time to sit in memory of Rubeus Hagrid. And, if any of you know of anyone who might be involved in the crime commited, please let me know," the old man's eyes drifted distinctively over to the three Gryffyndors seated next to each other, and Hermione felt a chill upon her spine, " as soon as humanely possible."  
  
As the headmaster's speech concluded, the room slowly flooded out and back into the main school area, leaving a shocked and disentangled trio to themselves. At that moment, Hermione felt a burning desire; growing in the pit of her stomach. A strong lust for the tasteful blood of a murderer. Her eyes, darkened in color, and her cheeks flushed the shade of a winter's rose. All that was before, was now a memory. A figmentation of some better time, in some better place. It wasn't real anymore; this moment was real. Now was real. And now, all she needed was a dagger in a killer's heart and a strong sensation of revenge playing on her mind. As all of these thoughts and ragings collected inside of her, the two left on the exterior were becoming extremely shattered. Tears formed at the pit of the red headed boy's eyes, and the boy-who-lived was holding his head menacingly in his hands.   
  
Though, another figure lay beyond the shadows of the room, watching them, waiting for them. 


	2. Chapter 2

The candles were melting, as was her mind. The small capacity of sanity she had left in her brain was slipping away. The corner of the desk was littered with used tissues and her Potion's essay lay unfinished in front of her, parts of it blotted with tears.   
  
She diverted her attention from the unfinished paper towards the dorm window, looking out upon the glowing moon and the dim landscape. Her eyes grazed past the lake and upon the small cabin. Only, tonight, there was no warm light emitting from it's round windows. No smoke stack coming out of the chimney and dissolving in the cold autumn air. It was an abandoned old cabin. Spiders were build their nests on the inside, dust would build on the teakettle that had brewed so many late night cups of tea. The remains of the couch would collect mites and grime of all sorts; the couch that had once sat the three young Gryffindors.. looking for answers to problems only so high over their heads.   
  
A tear trickled down her right cheek. These memories only made her long for her giant friend more so than before. I'll go down there tommorow.. she thought to herself. I have every right to.   
  
Wait? What was that? A flash of light? For a split second, Hermione could have sworn she recognized a candle flicker. Rubbing her eyes roughly, she reopened them and glanced again. Yes; there was a candlelight in the front window, glowing faintly. Someone was down there. Who was it? Hermione studied the light closer. It was steady, but every now and then she could discern shadows.   
  
"That's it," she said outloud. She grabbed her scarf and scurried out of the dormitory. Despite the fact that it was well past midnight, Hermione felt no harm or danger in her present situation. The homicidal feelings that had taken over her mind for the past three days had drowned out her natural instincts. Leaving her with a bitter blood-thirsty companion to share her consience with. She decided to take the back way, through the kitchens, and out onto the grounds to avoid any unnesecary confrontations.   
  
She walked briskly down the hillside, keeping her eye still on the flickering candle just inside the abandoned cabin. She was a mere ten yards away from the front window, and the candle whipped itself out. Leaving no visible shadows or objects in the cabin. She froze; unsure as to what had occured or to what she should do. She had a dire feeling that whoever was in the cabin, had something to do with Hagrid's murder. Whoever it was, they were trying to hide something; and she had to find out who it was. She had to hunt them down and burn their insides ever so slowly, so that they could feel the torturous pain that was kempt inside of her. Controlling every breath she took, every decision she made.   
  
She decided to go ahead into the cabin, with a slightly marred confidence. Her hand on the doorknob, she slowly began to turn it. Clockwise to the rythym of her beating heart. The door creaked so loudly as it opened. A crack was discerned, then a quarter of the way, Finally Hermione had acheived enough space to let her body inside. The endtable near the door held a lantern and a small box of matches beside it. She scrambled to pick up the box, and swiped the match against the rugged sandpaper siding. She lit the lantern and carefully picked up the lantern, letting it sway to it's own will. The entire room was illuminated instantly, with only a few corners left in the dark. She spotted the coffee table on which the candle she had seen must have stood. Though, looking onto this table revealed no candle, no wax; nothing. She stepped back placing the lantern back onto the table and blowing out the flame. Shutting the door behind her, she began to flee towards the castle. Her pace slightly quickened from the speed she had descended with earlier.   
  
The kitchen door that she had used was opened. Damn Kitchen elves.. she thought to herself. A quick alternative came to mind, and she sped towards the far end of the lake.  
  
The greenhouses lay still in the night. Professor Sprout came in early, but it was usually around five o'clock, and Hermione felt safe in her persuit. She swung the door open to Greenhouse Number Three and shut it tightly behind her. The greenhouse was extremely cold, and Hermione had only a robe and a scarf to sustain her body heat. She decided to sit down, resting her mind and body for a moment before making the ascent back towards Gryffindor House. She closed her eyes, recollecting her thoughts piece by piece.   
  
I know I saw that light. I'm not insane! Well maybe insane, but I still know what I saw!  
  
"It was real, I know it was," she said outloud. Shutting her eyes again.   
  
"Was it now?" a sharp tenor voice emitted from the darkness. Hermione's eyes shot open and drifted aimlessly around the room, searching for the voice's origin.   
  
"Wh- Where? Who are you?" she managed to say. In response, a tall young man with a strong and slender frame protruded from a dark corner. If Hermione was not so disadvantaged to have known the man's identity, she would have been strongly attracted to him. Though the reality of his persona made her stomach grow weak.   
  
"What the hell are you doing here, Malfoy?" she spat curtly.   
  
"There are few times when one can be alone in a peaceful area on these grounds," he stated in response.   
  
"So you like exploring the greenhouse at one o'clock in the morning?" she asked sarcastically. Her moment for humor was squandered, though, when the young Slytherin leveled his gaze directly at her. His cold grey eyes piercing her consience. She felt her sense go numb, and for a moment, she could feel his senses growing on her. She could feel the pain, the truth, the danger in those eyes. They were the eyes of a predator. A snake.   
  
At once he released his gaze, and responded curtly.   
  
"Infact, yes,"   
  
Hermione sighed at the fact that her interrogation was not getting her anywhere. Then a realization came to her.   
  
"Wait, if you've been out here, you must have seen the candlelight!" she stated. His eyes fleeted to the right for a moment, and Hermione sensed a weakness in him. Then he responded.   
  
"Candlelight? What in the bloodyhell are you talking about?"   
  
"There was a light! In the cabin! You must have seen it if you've been here the whole time," she tried to explain.   
  
"I just got here a few moments ago," he said plainly.   
  
"Then why did you hide?" Hermione asked curiously.   
  
"I wanted to see what you were up to," Draco responded with a raise eyebrow "and in that case, what were you doing? You have my motives, now give me yours," Hermione seemed outraged that such a delusive character would see her motives as suspicious.   
  
"If you must know, I was inspecting the light in Hagrid's cabin; which I had observed from my dormitory window!" Draco shook his head.   
  
"Sorry to be asking. I wouldn't want to ruin the reputatioin of an ominous young Gryffindor," he said sarcastically. Hermione caught him with a glare, to which he simply turned away.   
  
" Well, I shall be on my way," Draco sighed and began to leave. Hermione eyed his departure, watching the insulting Syltherin male leave her behind. He turned back to face her once more.   
  
"You know, Hermione. If you're trying to find the answers, you'll find them in the most unlikely places." He left. Left her to herself. To ponder the confusing yet ominous words that had escaped his breath.   
  
What? she thought to herself. What is he talking about? Was that advice? Or was that a hint? With these thoughts replaying strongly in her mind, she made her way back through the school and slipped into the dormitory unnoticed. She plopped down onto her thin mattress and sighed of relief. Pulling the comforter up over her head, she slipped into a deep and dreamless sleep, the whole while her head filled with thoughts of the light, the greenhouse, and the words so wisely spoken by a true enemy. 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 03-  
The rain covered the already drab school in an aire of sorrow and mourning. All was quiet inside and out for a funeral was in procession. The funeral of a man to which every student in the great school owed their lives to. He had kept them from harms way, every year, for as long as he had lived on the grounds.  
Some were respectful, silently standing and paying their regards to the deceased corpse laying in a bedded coffin. Some decided to use the break from school as time to catch up on social matters and anything else to offend the dead man being shown.  
Soft Irish music played through three seperate bagpipes, each producing the same tune of Amazing Grace. While each student stood alone in their own prayers and regrets, Hermione stood vacantly. Staring down at the body of her deceased friend; the man who had lifted her spirit so many nights with a cup of tea and a sympathetic talking-to. And though the tears rolled freely down her cheeks, she could not control the anger. The spark of hate and rage that grew with her every day. She was getting closer, she could feel it. She sensed them. The murderer was close at hand. And when the time came, and she knew it would; she would strike. Strike with all of the homicidal idiations inside of her. All of the force and pain that she had felt would double inside of her victim. Leaving them helpless, just as her dear friend had been before his fate.  
The music came to a halt, and the calm voice of the headmaster rung clear over the throngs of young witches and wizards.  
"I hope that you all will keep our former gamekeeper and friend, Rubeus Hagrid, in your hearts and minds. All students will return to their normally scheduled classes after returning to the castle. Thank you all for attending the procession."  
The crowd stirred at the words of departure. Most would walk away, with a small head shake and sigh at the loss. A few would laugh, such as Malfoy and his shroud of followers. Some would ignore the death completely, but the few left over; they would dwell on such a death for a long time to come.  
Hermione was one among those few. Standing aside as the rest of the crowd followed suit, re-entering the school, unaware of the turmoil; the agony that such a death had caused. That any death should cause to those close to the deceased.  
And in her turmoil Hermione began to question death; if it was really worth it. All the sobs and goodbyes. For deep in her mind she feared that none of the deceased were gone. That they were among them all, breathing down their necks as the wind itself. The thought of constant bombardment made her bones quiver. Then again, she did wonder why she delved so deeply into such things. Shouldn't top scholar be enough to suit her role? The constant stream of questions birraging her mind were incredulous.  
Maybe it was the fact that she had grown up too fast. Being exposed to such gruesome things at such young ages. Even her closest friends could not know the secrets of her past. But she wasn't one to cry on another's shoulder. The action seemed hypocritical; and selfish in reason to her.  
Looking past her thoughts; her eyes met the dead corpse. Lying in peace, without the struggle of everyday ruffians messing about in the school that lay behind him. Such a good friend, and such a bitter end. Hermioine felt the tears welling up again, and she didn't try to stop them. She let a single tear slide down her cheek and fall onto the dead man's body.  
"I'm sorry," she said aloud in a whispered voice. She closed her eyes and wiped away the tears, re-opening them to the sympathetic faces of her two best friends.  
"C'mon Hermione," Ron Weasley took her hand in his. Together the three slowly made their way towards the ominous castle before them. Leaving the body of a lost friend to stand alone, with only the gravedigger to remain burdened with it.  
----  
The moon had dissapeared due to the previous nights relentless waning. The grounds were dark, and Hermione did not spare a second glance towards the depressing landscape, void of any warm-hearted caretaker. Early European Magic lay in front of her; opened to the fiftieth page, waiting to be looked upon. Though, Hermione's gaze lay not on the drudging textbook, but the intriguing flames emitting from the grand fireplace familiar to the Gryffindor common room.  
The Common Room was hardly bustling, with it's only inhabitants being Ron, Harry, and Hermione herself. The room was filled with the thick intoxicating haze of sorrow and mourning. It had been nearly a week since the public procession, though the time crept past slowly due to the ongoing hunt for the murderer. The school had not stopped buzzing since the corpse was discovered, and the chatter must have played a number on their energy, due to the fact that all were in bed and it was only eleven o'clock.  
A curfue, of course, had been administered to the students, that they should be in their respective houses no later than ten o'clock. Though Hermione tried at her best to ignore the curfue completely.  
"Hermione?" her daze was interuppted by our most illustrious red- head. Hermione's head jerked away from the flames and met sight with Ron Weasley. Annoyed by the interuption, Hermione responded quite curtly.  
" What?"  
" Sorry, I didn't mean to interupt you in your- well, whatever you were doing," the seventeen year old's lanky arms flew up in defense. Hermione rolled her eyes at the gesture. Harry, catching the act, couldn't help but let out a sharp comment.  
" What's been bugging you lately, Hermione? You've never been so apathetic,"  
" Apathetic?" she scoffed, " Do you even know what that means "savior boy"? I happen to be completely fine. Maybe it's you two who haven't been dwelling enough on Hagrid's death,"  
Harry turned beat red and in turn Ron came to his defense.  
" For your information, Hermione. Hagrid meant something to us too, and just because we don't intend on crying it up all day long doesn't mean we don't care. Seriously, Hermionie, what has happened to you?" the boy stated, obviously grateful for having a chance to voice his outrage.  
" You know what, boys? If you don't want me here, I'm gone." Hermione stood up abruptly and stomped out of the common room in a huff. Though, not towards the dorm room, but out into the dark corridors of the school.  
" Hermione! We're not allowed-" Ron's voice was cut off by the portrait hole slamming shut.  
She was glad to be rid of them. They had become mere distractions in her ultimate plan, though she never would have suspected such troublesome teen boys would have overlooked such a death with a mere sigh. She stormed down the stairways, further and further down, hoping to reach some kind of desolation to comfort her.  
The dungeons. Their bleakness was overwhelming, and it seemed that any man subjected to such an enviroment for an extended period of time might be as irritable as the proffessor in question. In her sixth year at the school, she had uncovered a rather damp yet courteous place to spend time alone, away from the constant attention that came with being the friend of Mr. Harry Potter. The small dungeon room's usage had become much more regular after the death of her friend, and Hermione immediatley made her way down the long intricate dungeon hallways towards the room in consideration.  
Shutting the door tightly behind her, making sure that no sound emitted from it's closure, she reached her hand to the right of the handle, her fingers grazing a rough handled object. She pulled a box of matches from her cloak and lit the torch; the room immediatley lighting up. She walked across the room and pulled the loose brick from the musty floor, and underneath the protruding brick was a leatherbound journal; one that Hermione had found soothing counsel in for the past few weeks. The journal was not hers. She had stumbled upon it in the first days that her secret room had been discovered. She had read the journal at least thirty times since then, and knew it front to back. It was almost a miracle to her, stumbling upon such literary genius, and to think the words and ideas presented in the journal had come from a former student of Hogwarts? It seemed odd to imagine another student of mediocre intelligence strolling the vast halls of the ancient school.  
Her fingers caressed the intricate symbol that had been etched into the front cover. The ink was an emerald green, most likely representing Slytherin, but Hermione did not mind the forebearer's housing accomodations; his mind was deep with compassion and secrets. If only she could find the former owner, then maybe some of her most intriguing questions would be answered. She flipped the cover open, there was no name of course, only a spec of ink that might have been the debated start of the former owner's initials; but Hermione payed no mind to it. She scanned the pages, finally coming to a halt where she had last left off.  
The handwriting unbelievably neat and beautiful, the forebearer must have been an artist of some sort. The ink created a harmony with the page as much as the crafted words did. She began to concentrate on the place at which she had last left.  
'December the Twenty-Second,  
The halls are brimming with cheer and joy yet again, though I know why it is they celebrate so. It 'tis for their own selfish reason, they wish to have gifts, gifts of the heart and of the physical realm. I see it every year, the gigantic fir appears in the dining hall, and all becomes a hectic mess of glory and tribute. It becomes almost sickening to watch. The women become lusty in their appeal, and though it can be somewhat enjoyable to witness, it is all an inner-selfishness, not a love.  
My wish would be to see the ends of a year in which no eyes gleam with that selfish satisfaction, when all is silent and blissfully at peace. Though peace is a word not truthfully heard to human ears, and peace can only be achieved through gratification of the human soul, through love of one another; not lust, not greed. Pure unadolterated love. Until that time I will continue to believe that human and wizard-kind has long-ago abandoned hope, and that the only method to reforming human ways, is to terminate the one's in the way; the ones not so easily changed. They are our only enemies.'  
Hermione stared at the words in sadness and sympathy. She understood everything that he was trying to explain. Her feelings had been in the same degree, especially for the past month. Her enemy was the murderer of such an innocent and loving man. Hagrid was one of the only people who's gaze was filled with a clean kind of love, not a corrupted one; and she admired this greatly. Turning to the very last page of the journal, Hermione couldn't help but notice something for the very first time. To the immediate right of the date the year, and at the sight of the numbers, 1998, her eyes widened in surprise. The entries had stopped immediatley after Hermione had first discovered the journal. The would have to mean that the student was still at Hogwarts, and had still been coming to the room until Hermioine had found it. That meant it could be any one student in Hogwarts, better yet, in Slytherin House. Hermione shuddered to think that one of the half-wit brains of Slytherin house could have developed such an accomplishment.  
Thoughts of her new development were cut short, though when the sound of footsteps coallesced off of the dungeon walls, and shallow voices made their way down the hall. Hermione quickly stuffed the journal back under the brick and tip-toed towards the door, pressing an ear up against the crack beneath it. The late-night visitors stopped short, though, just outside of the room, and there voices were just clear enough to discern through the crack of the door. Hermione cocked her head to observe the feet of the visitors, one set being a normal size and the other the rare size of an elephants enormous hooves. The most unique and discerning part of their feet were the shoes; brown Oxford's with the distinct symbol of Slytherin house on the toe.  
"I observed him again today, not much of a change since before. He didn't notice me, so I'm guessin' he didn't suspect nothin' " These words belonged to a student with a rough tenor voice; most likely the large- footed man. The reply sent a chill down her spine, for she knew it well.  
"Be careful, we don't want to spoil our new circumstances. We have come too far my friend," the voice was cold as steel and lined with the spite of frost; it belonged to none other than Draco Malfoy. What was he doing in the dungeons after curfue? And even more importantly, who were they reffering to, and what "circumstances" was he talking about? She listened closely to their voices, being sure not to blow her cover. There was a lengthy pause until the tenor voice spoke again.  
"What am I to do now?" he asked. Hermione caught a drift of fear from the deep voice, though he seemed extremely undermatched in comparison to Draco; the spindly character with tacked on muscles he was. Malfoy seemed to take this into consideration.  
"Do not do anything," he resolved the question "I would very much like to handle this situation on my own. Mr.Potter has struck a nerve of mine since the very first day I laid eyes on him. I will handle this Grimly,"  
Hermione almost blew her cover with the shock that came from Harry's name being mentioned. It all seemed to fall into place at that moment, Hagrid's death, the "circumstance", Draco's prescence in the greenhouse, though one thing was left completely unclear; what could he possibly be up to? Her rage was about spent, and she was all to fond of unleashing right then. A small whimper escaped her breath, and her eyes filled with terror, for Malfoy had shushed his partner, and his hand clasped tightly around the doorknob to her room.  
Hermione slid her arm down to her side, grasping her wand by it's hilt, and the door to the dungeon room creaked warily on it's hinges. She rolled out of the doorway and into the nearby corner, where in a defensive position, she aimed her wand at the intruder.  
"Crucio!" 


End file.
